


The No Pants Dance

by tilallare0ne



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Drunk Sex, Fluff and Smut, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Masturbation, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, the most platonic sex ever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 12:20:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7267921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tilallare0ne/pseuds/tilallare0ne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodimus liked drinking at Swerve's most nights; the noise, the music, and the mix of a few dozen EM fields all crowded into one space pretty much encapsulated his idea of a good-time atmosphere.</p><p>But there was something to be said about nights like this too, where it was just him, his third-in-command, and entirely too many cubes of engex spread out over his berth and the surrounding area of his quarters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The No Pants Dance

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first TF fic, I'm so sorry mom

Rodimus liked drinking at Swerve's most nights; the noise, the music, and the mix of a few dozen EM fields all crowded into one space pretty much encapsulated his idea of a good-time atmosphere.

But there was something to be said about nights like this too, where it was just him, his third-in-command, and entirely too many cubes of engex spread out over his berth and the surrounding area of his quarters.

Rodimus was flat on his back on the berth, staring vaguely at the ceiling, which was almost definitely spinning. Drift's EM field radiated contentment and a similar level of overcharge from a few inches over, where he was sprawled on his front and propped up on his elbows. He was talking animatedly about something, but Rodimus was only catching every fifth word or so; mostly he was just letting his best friend's voice ebb in and out of his audial. It was nice, and Rodimus closed his optics to enjoy the way his frame buzzed with overcharge. 

His servo was resting between his legs, one finger lazily tracing circles on his closed panel. It was warm but not hot, and the contact mostly just felt _nice_. He hummed happily along to whatever Drift was saying.

A while passed before Drift said something that sounded like a question. When he stopped talking, Rodimus realized he was waiting for an answer.

"Hmm?" he said, optics squinting back online.

Drift rolled his eyes, grinning affectionately. "I asked if you needed some help." He inclined his head down to Rodimus' servo. It took Rodimus a second to realize what he was referring to. 

He wasn't sure when he'd opened his panel, but at some point he had, and he was stroking his mostly-pressurized spike with a loose grip. Charge had been building in his systems without him even noticing, more simmering than crackling. He couldn’t bother to be embarrassed.

"Hmmm, if you wanna," he replied, spreading his legs a little for better access. "I wouldn't mind."

"I bet you wouldn't," Drift teased. He shifted closer to Rodimus and slipped a servo between his legs. Rodimus hummed happily, wiggling his hips as Drift slid two fingers between the folds of his valve. Drift's fans quickened almost inaudibly at the wetness there. Rodimus grinned.

Drift dragged his fingers, now soaked in lubricant, up Rodimus' array until he reached his external node. Rodimus invented shakily when Drift started to rub it.

“That good?” Drift asked, smirking. _Smug bastard._

“Of course it’s good, you aft. Don’t stop.”

He realized that the movement of his servo on his spike had slowed to a stop, with all his focus concentrated on the unfairly talented fingers working his node. He started stroking himself again, in time with Drift's movements. His optics offlined as his processor clouded with a fuzzy sort of bliss.

"Mmmyeah, keep going,” he urged, sliding his thumb over the head of spike. He bit his lip plate to stifle a moan. Lubricant was already beading at the tip, and he spread it around happily.

He heard the soft click of Drift’s panel retracting, and he forced his optics online again to admire his friend’s array. His position on the berth didn’t give much of a view of Drift’s valve, but his spike was gorgeous, a pearly white with biolights glimmering along the underside. It had been _way_ too long since the last time he’d seen it.

“See something you like?” Drift asked, pinching Rodimus’ node lightly.

Rodimus rolled his optics, although he couldn’t control the way his hips rocked up into the touch. “I’d like it more if you’d put it in my valve already. Get over here.”

It took far too long for Drift to get settled between Rodimus' legs, and by the time he was positioned there, Rodimus was pretty sure he had a dent in his chassis from one of Drift's elbows.

"So fraggin' heavy," he huffed, and Drift kneed him in the aft gently.

"Shut up. You want me to frag you or not?"

"Yeah, yeah, okay. Hurry up. Captain’s orders.”

Drift shook his head fondly, holding the base of his spike and guiding it to the opening of Rodimus' valve. It took him a few tries, but he finally got it lined up well enough to push the head inside. Rodimus hummed happily.

"Yeah, that's it," he purred. Drift inched forward slowly, weight on his elbows, and _Primus_ , it was nowhere near enough. Rodimus' valve was slick enough that it only took one push of his hips upwards for Drift to slide in most of the way.

"Okay, impatient, got it," Drift said, and Rodimus couldn't help letting out a self-satisfied giggle at the way his vents stuttered.

It's not like this was a _regular_ thing or anything, but they'd ‘faced often enough to fall into a comfortable rhythm. Rodimus rolled his hips in time with Drift's forward thrusts, frames clanging together every time they met. Drift knew just how to angle his hips so that his array rubbed up against Rodimus' external node with every movement, something that Rodimus always felt a little touched by. Drift was nothing if not a considerate frag buddy.

"Primus, yeah," Rodimus hummed, reaching down to grope Drift's aft. Drift yelped in surprise, and Rodimus giggled into his chassis. Drift responded with a particularly hard thrust of his hips, and Rodimus moaned.

"Frag, Roddy," Drift gasped, angling his helm to give Rodimus a clumsy kiss, more just their lip plates bumping together as their mouths hung open than anything else. Charge was jumping between their plating, crackling along wires and it felt so good, so  _good_  -

Rodimus realized belatedly that he was on the edge of overload. He flexed the calipers in his valve, trying to pull Drift over with him, but it only took one more brush of Drift's spike against his ceiling node before he was done. 

"Drift, Drift, Drift, oh frag Drift _ohPrimus Driiiiift_ _!_ "

Rodimus' spinal struts arched, spike spilling transfluid over taut abdominal plating as his circuits overloaded. When he rebooted a few seconds later, Drift's spike was still hard in his valve, and he looked uncertain.

Rodimus patted his friend's back reassuringly. "Keep going," he said with a nod.

Drift moaned, burying his face in Rodimus' neck cables and starting up his rhythm again. Rodimus hummed contently; the slide of Drift's spike still felt nice, even though his charge was depleted. He could almost fall into recharge like this.

When Drift's hips started to stutter in their motions, Rodimus cycled his calipers, running one servo up and down Drift’s back. "Overload for me," he murmured, and Drift gasped against his neck, frame twitching. Rodimus felt warm spurts of transfluid fill his valve, and Drift gave a few more weak thrusts before collapsing on top of him.

They lay there for a few minutes, vents returning to normal usage, until Drift's spike depressurized and his panel slid back into place. Rodimus' followed a second later, and Drift rolled off of him. 

He wasn’t getting away _that_ easily. Rodimus immediately snuggled up against him, overheated frames be damned.

"Good job with the whole, y’know, fragging thing," he mumbled sleepily, patting Drift on the shoulder.

Drift let out a staticky snort of laughter.  “Thanks. You too.”

“Well, obviously. It’s me.”

“Glitch,” Drift replied, any harshness behind the insult negated by a yawn.

Rodimus smiled, optics offlining. The rest of his systems soon followed, lulled into recharge by Drift’s fans cycling next to him.


End file.
